This is my psychiatrist's couch. Take from it what you will.
But do leave a note.
I still am a late middle aged former government worker marking time until the cliff.
Short Fiction, Doggerel and Insensitive Opinion are spoken here.
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Thursday, July 16, 2015

Bessie (Blogophilia 21.8)

A lone cow stood placidly at the fence as the end of the day
came. Smacking cud competed with the bullfrogs for the dominate sound. Bitter
timothy hay mixed with sweet alfalfa, the mass shifted from front to back in
her mouth. Every few minutes a bit of it would pass down her gullet and then
back. In a repetitive motion that was controlled only by instinct she would dip
her head to the ground for replacement. This was the way of her world.

It was much quieter in the pasture tonight. The old Farmer
had a get-together last night. Twangy sounds came from the farmhouse, high
pitched voices that made her nervous. The men seemed to like them though, hooting
and hollering. Sweet smells came from
the shed where they laid up the dead pigs. One of them must be getting burnt
for some reason.

The men then laid up this huge ruckus. They brought out the
fire spitting sticks and were taking turns pointing them at various things set
up on an old oak stump. One would go boom and a shiny thing would fly like it
was being pulled by a rope. One of them put a watermelon on and it spattered
its fruit all over. That was so wasteful, she thought. Maybe she should go
clean that up. But she wasn’t going anywhere near those noise makers.

As it got darker, they started making flame and putting it
to some long thingamabobs. Some of them would snap and pop like the long sticks
and everyone would scream and laugh. There were others that would jump in the
sky. They would arc over the pasture and boom, to great approval. The horses
galloped and reared at each noise. A bay mare about ran over her trying to get
away, screaming something about they should be forever banned.The cow didn’t mind though. She had figured
if she just stayed where she was, they wouldn’t hurt her.

Some of the boomy things looked like flowers against the moon.
Were they tasty? As much as she could lift her head, she couldn’t reach them. They would rise and flower, rotate, twinkle
and lose shape, dropping slowly back toward the ground. A light gray one would
follow a dark one. A yellow one suddenly turned pink. This went on long after
the sun went down. Finally, quiet came
and everyone filed back to the house. Fun was over.

Bedding down, a dream came. She was in the pasture where the
long, low building where the cows go in but never come out. It had been a while
since she had been turned out here and a strange feeling began to come over
her. The bull said everyone went there. But even he didn’t know what happened
after you went in, but it apparently was the end. Was it time to go in there?

No, it wasn’t her time. She knew it.

The Farmer approached with the looped rope. Turning away
from him, she trotted toward the fence, mooing loudly. The bull would be proud
to see the brown and white flash, not worrying about the barbed wire or
anything else. As she was running her tail rose, a soft pie came out.

The Farmer’s boot landed square in the muck. Then the
strangest thing happened. A large boom was followed by liquefaction of the ground behind her. What was in her feed last night? The
Farmer sailed high in the air, followed by a pink dish and a blue spoon.
sailing over the moon.The groundsank, taking the low slaughterhouse with it. Evening’s empire had returned into sand. The dream
had reached its destination.

The round eyes blinked, pools of mud set in concrete. Yellow sun was visible through the
trees past the far fence. Nothing had happened. Nothing had changed. With a bit
of a struggle, her feet were regained and she lolled back to the fence. The
sound of smacking cud competed with the hay baler as the new day began.

Be it dream or fate, her time will wait; she will not be featured on a plate.The farmer did fly, no time to ask why, no chance for a second try.When danger looms, from scenic booms, best place to be is in a room,Where you can query, "What was that?"